The Chain of Woes: Prologue
by HalfThomas
Summary: This begins a dark ages chronicle of Vampire einherjar (Norsemen) who reside in a werewolf-plagued Caledonian countryside. Set in 970AD.


"When will this madness end?" The gaunt prince was wringing his hands, pacing restlessly, looking even more as a mortal who was close to a fever, and would soon succumb to death. His dark, stringy hair stuck flat against his greyish pale face. The pounding and scratching at the doors by a dozen or more unseen creatures was more than he could stand. Standing just next to the castle's entrance, as still as the rocks that manned the coast against the incoming tide, his man-at-arms turned slowly towards him. He was almost twice the size of the Vampire Prince's bratling by sheer muscle alone, and three times as kingly. Blonde-brown hair cascaded fully down to the small of his back, and his beard lay in four braids upon his chest.

"Until our king thinks it right to escape these shores, or the Fates take him, there will be naught but madness." The man-at-arms spoke as one whose patience would hold out only as long as something else was keeping his mind occupied. "If you prefer a simpler, more temporary solution to your worry, wait until morning. That is our charge. Lord." The man-at-arms turned his head once again toward the door, the only thing keeping absolute destruction at bay. The withered figure of the lord suddenly straightened, furious at his inferior's lack of spoken courtesy. Forgetting the beasts that raged outside, he stormed up to the _einharjar_ that his master held in such high regard and, clutching the top of his cuirass, pulled him ever so slightly toward him.

"If you were not in my sire's protection, Od, I would tear out your lungs and throw you to those dogs out there right now." He spat his words, seething with an anger that was rarely seen by anybody in that castle. "Have you forgotten why you still walk this world? You _owe_ your sword to me, and our king." In a flash, the lord was thrown against the opposite wall and pinned, hissing and flailing. Odgen's eyes flared red.

"I do not owe a cursed thing to _you_, Jorgen. Gesethma paid my death-price; I laid my axe at _his_ feet in service, and not at those of his niggling, cowardly little successor." With a free hand, Odgen brushed Jorgen's neck with fingernails as hard and sharp as talons, which sent a shudder through the prince. "I have not seen you raise one arm to defend this castle against attack. If anyone deserves to be thrown to those beasts, it is you. You _and_ your sister. She is the reason they come every night, and she is the reason our lord is taken from his own mind."

Closing his fingers around the lord's neck, he dragged him over to the barricaded entrance to the castle. Jorgen let out a small scream as he was slammed violently against the door. The beasts seemed to pound in heightened desperation, as if in answer. The wood creaked and cracked in many places. Odgen leaned in close, almost whispering in the coward's ear, speaking in a low voice that one could make no mistake as being deathly serious.

"Do you hear those creatures out there? I walk this world right now for this moment. I am here because they are here. Should they burst upon this threshold, I will cut them down. So will the men and women who also defend this castle. Should I fall on this night, I will forever cut them down in the Golden Hall, for I will have fallen with my axe in my hand. Final Death is nothing to me. It was nothing to me when I was sentenced to be beheaded before the lords of Corstopitum twenty moon cycles past. Hel's Hand take Gesethma; he is as much a coward as you are. He creeps about and steals children from their beds, and doesn't so much as face _those_ who would avenge his actions." Forcing his last point, he jabbed a finger in the direction of the castle's assailants. Jorgen flailed and lashed out more fiercely, fangs exposed. He hissed and scratched at Odgen, but to no avail.

"You cannot do this, Odgen." His voice strained to whistle past the hand that would have, were he any living man, crushed his windpipe. "I will explain your insolence to my lord when this night is past, and you will be thrown into the keep to meet the rising sun. Without your precious axe." With these last words, blood sprayed from his mouth as spittle and dotted Odgen's cheek. A sharp-toothed smile spread across the Northman's usually humourless face.

"Do all you must, my lord. Just realize that if you deem it necessary to end my service, I am the only thing that stands between you and _them_." He gestured beyond the door, reinforced and rebuilt so many times that it was a wonder that it still stood. "I will look forward to the rising sun that you will give me, Jorgen. Should you survive the night."

As though on cue, the wood at the center of the gate shattered utterly with the force of many blows. Odgen released his lord's neck, and both men backed their way down the hallway to the opening of the Dining Hall, where only a handful of mortal retainers still ate. The Northman grabbed his axe from off of his back and called out in warning.

"_Einharjar_! To arms!" The call resounded with other voices throughout the Great Hall, and soon twenty men and vampires alike, all bearded and armored like to Odgen were crowded at the mouth of the exit, weapons drawn. Jorgen turned to make his way past them, and felt a hand grab his collar.

"Draw your sword and wipe the dust from it, Jorgen," Odgen growled. Jorgen stuttered in his reply.

"I-I believe all of you h-have this well in hand-" he began. The door split down the center with another round of blows. The claw of a giant creature punched through and pulled the edge of the hole it made, tearing wood from the door in chunks.

"It is not that simple, Jorgen. You can help defend alongside these men who all swear loyalty to your sire and die with honour, or you can die anyway. If another man is lost tonight because you did not raise swords with us, I will tear the flesh from your neck myself." With his one free arm, Odgen lifted him off his feet and placed him at his side, in front. "Now draw your sword. You will not be a coward after tonight."

As the door completely shattered in the next few moments, various _einharjar_ lined the hallway and made themselves unseen. The rest still stood at the mouth, creating a wall of blades for the lupines to run upon. Jorgen shivered, unfeeling of the cold in these northern lands, but still held his ground. Odgen placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"The heroes of Valhalla will welcome us with an open arm each, lads. The other arm will be handing us naught but the finest mead and the finest women." At this, all the men began laughing, including Gesethma's kinder. The gate opened wide, and a wave of black fur and razor sharp teeth poured in. Odgen shook his head, still smiling, and tightened his grip around his axe.

"It has been too long since I've had mead."


End file.
